


Not a Creature Wast Stirring...

by Saklani



Category: Ladyhawke (1985)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Bestiality, F/M, M/M, Magic, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:09:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saklani/pseuds/Saklani
Summary: They liked to watch is the thing.
Relationships: Isabeau d'Anjou/Etienne Navarre, Isabeau d'Anjou/Philippe Gaston, Isabeau d'Anjou/Philippe Gaston/Etienne Navarre, Philippe Gaston/Etienne Navarre
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Not a Creature Wast Stirring...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vissy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/gifts).



> I do so enjoy revisiting this world every so often to explore the characters and their relationships. I think both Philippe and Imperious could have been treated better at the end of the story, so here's a bit of a twist on that idea. Which also, I hope, meets the request of my lovely Yuletide recipient. This one's for you Vissy!

They like to watch, is the thing. 

The hawk finds the best perch in the room to gaze on the bed (or the floor and one time, the writing desk) and fixes her imperious gaze on them. The wolf places his front paws on the bed (she prefers the bed and Philippe gives her whatever she prefers) and stares, mouth open, tongue hanging out. And each time, they are a little closer than the last. 

Someday or some night, Philippe believes one or the other will give in to temptation and then where will they be?

Curses must be broken perfectly, if they are to be broken at all. On the day of the eclipse, nearly ten years ago now, Isabeau of Anjou and Etienne of Navarre faced off against and overthrew the Bishop of Aquila, but even as they did, the sun began to appear from behind the moon again, ‘the day without night and night without day’ ending just seconds too soon. The Bishop fell, and the couple reached for each other with over with joy in their hearts…and their fingertips managed only to brush before it all fell to ashes before them.

Philippe Gaston and the old monk, Imperius, could only watch helplessly as for days, the two forever parted lovers cursed and raged and cried and despaired. And they did their best to offer their support, as they had even before the killing of the Bishop, but what comfort could they offer against the awful truth? The chance to break the curse had passed. They were stuck as they were.

But life does not stop, and the Bishop of Aquila was dead, and the people cheered the ones who ended him and made them their rulers. They did not even mind that each spent half of their existence in a non-human form. Etienne was their Ruler of the Day, and Isabeau was their Queen of the Night. And that suited the people just fine. (Besides, everyone except those afflicted enjoys a good tragic romance. The sorrowful tale of their rulers gave Aquila a rarefied position in the world. A tale too good for everyone not to talk about it and visit just to see the famed rulers.) 

Aquila flourished under their rule besides. They listened to the concerns and needs of the people. They built up a powerful armed force, containing not only men, but the wolves of the woods and the hawks of the air. (And what mere human army wanted to face that?) Without threats, the economy of the land flourished and grew. Both brought their own strengths to their rule, and listened to the console not only of the other, but of learned folk, as well. 

And to Philippe. 

He’d stayed. Of course he’d stayed. If the curse had been broken and the lovers cheerfully reunited, he’d have left. Of that he felt certain. They would have had no more need of their Mouse, their little thief of the streets. But as they were, they still had not only need, but want of him. 

(Imperious was assigned the head of the church, with a dutiful and faithful assistant monk to run things when guilt drove him back to drink. He gave beautiful sermons, though, when the mood struck him, his Latin perfect. Most people didn’t understand a word, of course, but it always sounded amazing in his sonorous tones.

He’d sounded his best during the two wedding ceremonies for the ruling pair- one for Navarre in the day and one for Isabeau in the night. Their animal forms had stood by the other’s human form, as Imperius read the marriage rites over them. They’d exchanged rings that each wore in their human forms and written out their vows so each could have at least that for their own. Philippe had read each one’s pledge to the other in as fine a tone as he could manage.)

Philippe’s role changed through time, however, as their need of him changed with the passing years. He remained always a counselor and confidant, but that had progressed from a behind closed doors position to one officially declared by Isabeau herself to all of the people of their lands. He’d been their factotum, their messenger, their diplomat, their most trusted advisor.

And eventually, their Consort (though that never was an official title, as not even for such a beloved pair could the people take that blasphemy).

He remembered all too well how this most dear, but secret, of roles started. Five years into their new life, already much improving the status of their kingdom, but both so lonely, so longing for someone who was ever so close and ever so far simultaneous. And Philippe had grown more into himself by then. He’d never be the kind of dashing soldier figure Navarre was, but he no longer (completely) resembled a scrawny runt with gangly legs, either. He could hold at last a sword without appearing foolish. 

So, in the fading moments of a winter’s night, Isabeau had seized his right hand and pressed her lips to the back, tender and long. “Give this to Navarre for me,” she’d told him. 

And he should have said no. Should have stopped the entire thing right there. 

But he didn’t.

Instead, toward the end of the day, as the sun drifted behind the far mountains, he’d taken Navarre’s strong right hand and said, “Isabeau asked me to give you this,” and bestowed his own kiss (and hers) upon the back.

And of course, Navarre’s honor demanded a return gesture to his lady love, something to prove his equal devotion to her. A kiss to the cheek (the left) would do quite nicely. 

So, Philippe found himself engaging in an ever more intimate series of loving gestures between the separated pair. And as in all things, Isabeau led the way, taking things to their next logical progression each time, until one night, Philippe found himself losing his virginity with women, only to turn around and in the waning hours of the next day, also losing his virginity with men.

Almost all sense of decorum departed swiftly following that tiring twenty-four hours. Having discovered that being with Philippe made them feel as close to each other as anything left to them in the world, Isabeau and Navarre turned into demanding lovers, each wishing to rush through the business of the day or night to drag Philippe off to their chambers for hours. Only after Philippe begged for some sort of rest period did they slow their attentions down to something more reasonable. 

Somehow, it took them two years before their animal forms started joining the experience. Isabeau (always leading) at the window, just barely peering in for a few seconds as Philippe cried out in pleasure under the powerful thrusts of Navarre. The wolf, nose pressed to the door, smelling the delightful perfume that always wafted through the air when Isabeau finally dropped her final layer to the floor. 

Like with everything else, once they started down the path, things just continued to escalate with each encounter. Animals crept closer. Stayed longer. Began to make noises during the most intense moments. 

And now they’re here, the wolf with both his big black paws on the bedspread, nose only an inch away from Isabeau’s thrusting hips. Philippe trying hard not to buck up into her too fiercely lest he trigger some feral response from the great beast. There’s some of Navarre in there, sure, but there’s more of the wild instinct than the dedicated leader of men. Philippe still has the scars on his chest to prove it. God only knew (if God bothered to keep an eye on them anymore) what might happen if he thought Philippe might be hurting his Ladyhawke. 

Little chance of that right now, honestly, as the noises Isabeau made signaled the furthest thing from pain possible. 

But that has its dangers, too, as the wolf began to rumble and growl and yip in time with her, big body nearly vibrating.

And now he’s on the bed. 

And now his tongue is introducing itself into the activities.

And now the noises Isabeau is making might be audible to everyone in the kingdom.

And now…well, Philippe just hoped God had turned His gaze elsewhere now.


End file.
